


Anger to Ashes

by happilyeveramber



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, POV Stiles, Run On Sentences, Stream of Consciousness, Train of Thought, depressive behavior, slight suicidal thoughts, team human is as tight as derek's jeans yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happilyeveramber/pseuds/happilyeveramber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek isn't the only one who needs saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anger to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Don't even ask me when this takes place, okay, cuz i have NO idea. I started writing it before the whole Mrs. Blake/Derek thing (which aren't you so excited our baby is finally being loved :') ) so idek  
> Please check end notes for warnings (the warnings do feature spoilers).  
> thank you to the lovely Jules for betaing for me~

"Fuck," Stiles mumbles as he trips over another branch. "Fuck."

He can hear it, roaring and howling and growling and thrashing, all behind him, but not too far, not so far that they won't catch up. Fuck.

It's all he can do to keep running, to not fall over clutching his side, the burning pain coming out of it from overexertion and cuts from claws. He wants nothing more than just to freeze time for a moment, to be able to stop moving for a second- and, God, isn't that a familiar wish- to just breathe and try not to pass out. But he can't. He's started running and he doesn't know how to stop.

He doesn't know why he's even a worry for the Alphas. He's human; useless. But Kali, the vicious one, had looked him right in the eye and snarled with an evil smirk, had taken off after him while Derek tried to hold his own against Deucalion while Boyd helped and Scott and Isaac attempted to double team Ennis, and Allison shot bow after bow at the twins as Cora danced around them, swiping whenever she could. Maybe she had seen him there, not defenseless, definitely not, but nervous and weak and scared. She must've known he was the weak spot and immediately pounced, thinking she could be done with him under five minutes and move on.

Stiles had been partnered with Lydia, who had made more Molotov cocktails then they knew what to do with and had helped Stiles lace his bullets with wolfsbane. Bullets that were doing him really no good now that he can't fucking see _anything_.

Lydia had run off to throw her explosives at anybody near, leaving Stiles with only a gun and shaky hands.

See, he had come up with this image in his mind that when it came to an actual battle he would be badass and killer, not thinking about anybody else but his own survival. It didn't really work that way. He had looked at them all and, even as they were trying to kill his friends, he had thought _these are people_. _I came here to kill_ people. And he had panicked.

So that's why he's running through the forest, fingers shaking over the trigger of a stolen gun, lungs practically bursting, eyes tearing, and brain hurting.

He can hear Kali behind him, which she must be doing on purpose to make him even more afraid, considering she's a werewolf. She must be playing a game with him, trying to terrify him before she grows bored and strikes.

And he kind of hates to think it, but he keeps thinking quietly that maybe it won't be so bad when she does. Then he won't have to keep running and keep panting and keep being terrified. The only problem is he has to keep running. He has to keep running and panting and being terrified for as long as possible so that Kali won’t be able to go after one of the others. As long as she’s distracted with him, they’re all a bit safer.

He hears her get louder, like she could sense he was thinking too hard to be totally overwhelmed with fear and she didn’t like it. She’s snarling as she speeds up, though he knows she’s still playing with him because she’s not doing that ridiculous four legged run werewolves love to do.

Maybe because she is playing with him, maybe she won’t mind if he slows for a moment. But when he tries- just for a second, please, because oh God his legs are burning- he can’t. His legs refuse to listen and to stop. He can’t stop, he can’t stop, oh God he’s going to die, his legs are going to disintegrate.

Keep running, keep breathing, keep going. He can almost feel Kali growing impatient and he knows she's too smart and probably too afraid of Deucalion to keep this up for too much longer. As long as his death keeps someone else alive for at least a moment longer, he'll be okay. Everything will be okay.

Right when this werewolf business started, him and Scott had made a deal. If Stiles died, Scott would take care of his dad and vice versa with Scott's mom. If he dies, right here and right now, everything will be okay.

He gradually tries to get himself to slow down, to let himself have a shred of dignity in his final moments. Everything will be okay, everything will be okay. It repeats like a mantra in his head.

Finally, he sees Kali stride out of the trees and he stops. Everything will be okay.

"Giving up already?" Her smirk is dangerous and her claws are deadly.

"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" He replies, swallowing, letting his gun fall, hoping she'll at least make it quick.

"Pity. Well, you were fun while you lasted." She doesn't use her otherworldly speed, she simply walks over to him, drawing her claws in and out repeatedly.

She pouts as he closes his eyes. "Not even a bit of a fight? You're not even gonna make it fun? Well, whatever. I need to go and finish the job I started." He feels a single claw on his cheek, pressing harder and harder as it moves down.

He feels the sudden urge to _fight_ , to pick up his gun and blow her brains out, to go out with her blood on his hands, and a smirk on his face.

He tries to suppress it, but he can feel his hand snaking down to the ground when suddenly everything hurts. His head is pressed into a tree, _hard_ , and he sinks down to the ground as Kali laughs above him.

Weak, weak, weak, everything will be okay, everything _hurts_.

He reaches for the gun, but Kali steps down on his hand, grinding it into the ground with her heel. He’s starting to doubt his little chant.

But, he needs to try. He needs to fight. He needs to fight for his father, his friends, his Alpha, his _pack_. He owes it to them and how much they work to protect his weak human ass to at least try and fight to keep himself alive too. To at least try and keep Kali from them for another moment or two.

He puts his other hand on the ground and tries to propel himself up and forward, though it’s hard with his hand still under her boot. As soon as he is no matter how unsteadily on his feet, he aims a- hopefully- swift kick towards her shin.

It doesn’t seem to do much, because she just punches him in the face hard, her claws out. He can feel her slicing through his skin. She then moves her hand down around his neck, her fingertips pressing bruisingly hard, claws drawing blood.

She pushes him against the tree again, hand still around his throat. She tightens it and he lets out a choked off sound. _Everything will be okay_.

He can feel his airways closing off, he can feel himself dying. Everything… everything will be okay. The pack will be fine. He’ll be okay. Everything. Everything will be okay.

He slumps down, letting all the fight go out of him. He knows he’s about to die and he’s alright with that.

Just as Stiles thinks he’s about to have Kali snarling at him as his last sight, the pressure around his neck vanishes. He stands there, stock still, disbelieving that he may not actually die that night. He looks up and sees Derek holding Kali by the neck, similar to the way she had been killing Stiles. Scott and Boyd are next to Derek, howling, looking like they want a go at her when Derek is done.

But Derek doesn’t even go to his usual dramatics. He just snaps Kali’s neck quickly and then walks over to where Stiles has fallen to his knees on the ground, feeling on the verge of consciousness.

Scott kneels next to him, holding his head in his hands and inspecting him. Derek stands over him, watching with unreadable eyes.

"Stiles! Stiles, are you okay?" Stiles looks up at Scott, at Derek, as he feels something inside him wilt.

"Yeah, buddy. I'm always okay."

 

::

 

Stiles wakes up in a bed that's not his own.

He raises his head, looks around, and decides he doesn't want to deal with it.

He lies back down.

 

::

 

It's about two hours later when he decides he better eat. He doesn't want to, he doesn't want to ever get up again, he wants to lay in this bed his whole life.

When he gets up, he's in clothes that are definitely not his. They are way too big, but they're comfortable and his old ones should probably just be thrown out.

He pads out to the hallway, recognizing it vaguely as Derek's new loft. He hasn't ever been to the upper story before, but he's too tired and his bladder is too small for him to really notice anything.

He opens the next door and thanks anybody listening that it’s the bathroom. He quickly empties his bladder before moving to wash his hands. When he looks up, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and almost winces. His lip is cut and his eye is black. He has a bruise across his neck that goes all the way to his back.

He stares into the mirror, looking at what he is now. Weak. Weak, weak, weak, human, useless, weak.

He looks away.

 

::

 

He walks downstairs slowly, but when he sees Derek sleeping on the couch, he almost goes back upstairs.

"He finally went to sleep at around three," he hears behind him and he turns around to see Cora. He tries to offer her a smile, but his mouth refuses.

"He had Scott call your dad and tell him that you were sleeping over his house. He didn't want you going home like that and he didn't want Mrs. McCall to worry or chance her telling your dad." She smiles softly down at Derek.

"Well, you'll have to tell him I said thank you," Stiles finally speaks, wincing by how hoarse his voice sounds.

Cora's eyes snap back to him. "No. You're going to stay around long enough to tell him yourself. He took you back here last night and cleaned you up, fed you, and gave you a place to rest. I think the least you can do is thank him yourself."

Stiles suddenly feels smaller under her hard gaze, even though, physically, he's larger.

Cora's face softens. "Stiles, he considers you pack. We all do. You and Scott and Lydia and even Allison. He will do whatever he can to protect you and care for you. I don't know how he got himself into this big mess, but he's trying to make the best of it. In his own way." Stiles stares at her and she sighs. "I'm gonna go make some pancakes. Wake him up, okay?" Stiles nods even though that's probably a death wish, and she disappears into the kitchen.

He walks over to Derek and softly hits him on the arm. “Hey, buddy. It’s time to get up.” Derek groans and raises his hand to shield his face.

“Come on, Cora is making pancakes. Nice, fluffy pancakes. Mmmm, yummy. But only for nice obedient werewolves who wake up when told to.”

“Don’t be patronizing to me, Stiles,” Derek mutters to him, slowly rising and scratching his stomach. Suddenly, he seems to realize who he is talking to and his eyes widen. “Stiles, are you-?”

“Okay?” Stiles interrupts. “Of course I am.” He grins crookedly. “I’m used to all this by now.”

Derek doesn’t seem appeased. “You’re lying.”

Stiles’ smile falls. “Excuse me?”

“You’re lying. I can hear it. You’re neither okay nor used to any of this. Which you shouldn’t be.”

Stiles feels shaky. “You have no right to use your stupid little werewolf shit on me. How dare you tell me I’m lying. I am perfectly fine. I’m good, I’m fine, I almost died last night, I was _okay_ with knowing I was going to _die_ last night, but I am _okay_!” He doesn’t know how he started yelling but he can’t seem to stop.

“Stiles, calm down. Nobody is blaming you, nobody is saying you need to be strong.” Derek reaches out like he is going to touch Stiles, but then pulls it back.

“I don’t need to be strong,” Stiles says because Derek _still doesn’t get it_. “I need to stay alive.” Derek is still making a face like he doesn’t understand, like he doesn’t get that Stiles owes it to all of them to stay alive, after all they have done to protect him. That he owes it to Scott and Derek and his dad and everybody else. He can’t do what he did last night. He can’t be ready to die yet.

He hears a clattering in the kitchen and he remembers Cora, who  has probably heard every word. “I’ve got to go,” he says suddenly, disappointed and disgusted and ashamed of himself that he just put himself out there like that, naked and vulnerable.

“But your face-” Derek tries, still looking glazed over.

“I don’t have to go home. But I’m not staying here.” He walks out the door, breathing heavily. He doesn’t break until he gets to his car, in which he can feel his carefully composed face shatter.

He has to stop the car twice to puke in some bushes.

And it’s only when he pulls into Lydia’s driveway that he realizes he forgot to thank Derek.

 

::

 

“Oh, honey,” is the first thing Lydia says when she opens the door. “Come in, I’ll get the wine,” is the second.

She calls Allison, who comes over immediately with a stack of Marvel movies in one arm and even more alcohol in the other.

“You guys do know that I’m not a girl going through a breakup, right?” Stiles finally speaks up during Iron Man 2, pressed up against them both in Lydia’s huge bed.

“Well, duh,” Lydia answers, rolling her eyes.

“Then we would have The Notebook and ice cream,” Allison says with a grin.

They don’t talk anymore after that, just get way too drunk for a Thursday afternoon and laugh at Robert Downey Jr’s one-liners.

 

::

 

Stiles stays over Lydia's house that night, though he's on her floor, because Lydia wouldn't let him sleep in the same bed as her even if he was dying a slow death. He lies on her soft carpet with a purple blanket wrapped tight around him.

"Stiles," he hears Lydia whisper, well past the AMs.

"Yeah?"

"I know it's scary- even I'm scared- but it has to get better. We got the Alphas, right?" Stiles wants to laugh at her innocence.

"You don't understand, Lydia. There's going to be something else, there's _always_ going to be something else. We got ourselves into this mess and now we're never going to find a way out. As soon as we let out guards down, it's going to be more murders, more violence, more loss. We are going to have to live our lives in constant fear." Stiles feels himself wilt internally. "But it's okay. Everything will be okay, right?"

Lydia stays silent the rest of the night.

 

::

 

When Stiles wakes up, he has three missed calls from his father and two from Derek. He shuts off his phone.

When he looks up, Lydia is already gone, though she laid out a T-shirt and jeans that had probably been Jackson’s. He quickly dresses, glad to be out of Derek’s clothes.

He doesn’t expect Lydia to provide breakfast too, so he leaves her a thank you note and drives to Starbucks to get a black coffee. It is supposed to clear his mind, but instead it just burns his tongue.

He feels numb as he pulls into his driveway. He knows what’s coming- yelling and lying and disappointment. He wants to just fast forward through it.

He walks through the door, not even bothering to hide his face. His dad is sitting at the table with a phone in one hand and a beer in the other. He looks up when Stiles comes in.

“Stiles! Are you okay? Jesus, where the hell have you been?” Already going through the different levels. Worry to anger to disappointment.

“I was at Lydia’s house all night.” He’s surprised when the actual truth comes out. He had intended to reuse the old _Scott’s house_ or _studying all night at the library_ but when he had opened his mouth, he just felt _tired_.

“At Lydia’s?” His dad looks thrown for a second. “Were you guys…?”

“No! No, she’s just a friend.” He’s surprised to find no feeling of regret at the words. Sure, Lydia is gorgeous and snarky and a genius, but it’s not like he would even have time for a relationship. Even someone who knew about all the werewolf shit. He has enough trouble fearing for people’s lives, he doesn’t need someone moving up on that list. “We just watched movies, that’s all.”

“And why didn’t you call?” He can hear it; disappointment seeping into his tone.

“I forgot.” The truth. Kind of. He had been putting it off, shoving it so far into the back of his head that eventually it had flew out of his mind entirely.

“You _forgot_? Stiles, I haven’t seen you for two days. And, what happened to your face, _Jesus_?” Stiles had completely forgotten about his not so mint condition. Dammit.

“I, um, ran into a wall?” He can’t help the way his voice lifts at the end. Who could possibly run into a wall and come out with a black eye, cut lip, and bruises aplenty?

“ _Stiles_.” Disappointment. Stiles feels exhausted.

“Okay, okay, it was Scott. We were just play fighting, y’know, wrestling, and he forgot his own strength, haha. It wasn’t his fault.” Stiles rubs his neck before wincing, forgetting how sensitive he was on his new wound.

The sheriff sighs, sitting back down and picking up his beer, obviously not buying it. “Just go to your room, Stiles. I’ll see you for dinner.” And suddenly Stiles _hurts_.

He quickly feels a burning in his eyes, tears filling them. He opens his mouth to say something but all that comes out is this terrible, wrecked sounding _sob_. His dad looks up, getting up quickly and taking Stiles in his arms like he did when he was younger.

“I’m so sorry, Dad, I’m so _sorry_ ,” Stiles gasps out, shaking. “I’m so sorry.” He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, how come he can’t breathe if he’s taking so many breaths, his heart his going so fast, so why can’t he _breathe_?

“Stiles, Stiles, it’s okay. It’s okay, calm down, son, it’s okay.” But he doesn’t know that it’s not, it’s _not_ , he’s been kidding himself all this time, nothing is okay. People are dying, people are being murdered, _Stiles_ is murdering. Suddenly it’s all too much. The wolves, the Alpha pack, the killings, everything. He needs to protect everyone, he needs to protect himself, but he _can’t_.

He’s panting as his dad runs his hands over him in circles, trying to calm him down. His dad doesn’t even know, all this time he has been in danger because of Stiles, and he doesn’t even know.

“I have… I have to go,” he somehow manages to say. His dad looks at him likes he’s crazy.

“Son, you’re not going anywhere like this. Now, do you want me to tell you what’s going on?”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to at all.

But he still does.

 

::

 

After his dad has heard him out, has sat down with him on the couch, leaving the alcohol on the table, has listened to every last word and not told Stiles he’s insane, he makes his getaway.

“I really do have to go,” he says, taking advantage of his dad still processing. “I need to talk to someone, especially now that you know.”

His dad looks distracted, probably running through all the cases that the supernatural has touched. “Be back by eleven.” Then, his eyes get sharp. “Or at least call if you can’t.”

Stiles nods, feeling a bit lighter, a bit like it’s easier to actually smile again. He feels like he’s getting off easy, but as soon as he’s opening the door, he hears his father call, “And don’t think we aren’t going to talk about those injuries, young man! I have a lot to make up for.”

But, somehow, that just makes him feel even better.

::

 

When he gets to Derek’s house, he swallows down his nervousness. It’s not like Derek couldn’t have seen this coming. Scott’s mother knows and he’s okay with it. It’s not like Stiles made him out to be this terrible psychotic murder- in fact, he toned it down quite a bit. But he’s still ready for Derek to yell at him.

He doesn’t even have to knock; Derek has opened the door by the time he reaches the first step.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks him and Stiles rolls his eyes. He kind of tired of that question by now.

“Yes, I’m fine. Look, I need to tell-”

“Lydia told me she was worried about you,” Derek interrupts. “She said you didn’t sound so good last night and she thought you should be put on ‘breakdown watch.’”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Other than the impurities marking my once perfect baby soft skin.”  He winks at Derek. “Listen, I-”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve smelled off for the last couple of days. I’ve been worried.”

“Jesus fuck, Derek, can you let me talk?” Stiles snaps. At Derek’s startled look, he composes himself. “I’m fine. Nobody has any reason to be ‘worried’. But I really need to tell you something. And it would be nice if you didn’t cut me off this time.” He raises his eyebrows at Derek, who nods. “I told my dad. About us. You. Werewolves.”

“Did you want to?” Derek surprises him by asking.

“What?”

“Did you want to tell him?” Derek repeats. “Or did you do it because you couldn’t explain something or you were tired of lying?”

Stiles is thrown. “Why does it matter?”

“Because if you don’t want him to know, I’ll help you cover. We can make up some excuse or something. I don’t want you to be forced into telling him.” Derek’s stare is intense and Stiles shivers without reason.

“No, he… He needed to know. He needed to know how much danger he was in and what was happening in my life, in _his_ life. It wouldn’t be right to leave him in the dark any longer.”

“As long as it’s what you want.” Derek goes to walk back inside the house but Stiles pulls at his arm.

“That’s all you have to say? ‘As long as it’s what I want’? What the fuck?” Stiles didn’t realize until now, but he had wanted Derek to put up a fight, to yell at him, maybe to throw him into a wall or two. He was tired of soft voices and pity and kindness. Why else would he come to Derek and not Scott? He sure as hell didn’t come for comfort, what the fuck. Who would get comfort from _Derek_ , who has more problems than all of them combined?

“What do you want me to say, Stiles? I agree with your decision, if that’s what you want. I’m not going to argue with you on this.” Derek’s gaze is too soft; fake.

It dawns on him. “You still think I’m on the verge of breakdown, don’t you? You’re going to treat me like I’m fragile until you’re sure that I’m not going to down all my Adderall, huh?” Derek’s averted eyes tell more than his words ever do. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? What do I have to do to get you to shove me around and flash your eyes like you love to?”

Suddenly, Stiles is pressed up against the front door. “You want me to push you around?” Derek hisses in his ear. “You want me to yell and argue and push you against the wall? You want me to let the wolf out? Let it do whatever it wants with you- _to you_?”

Stiles does a full body shudder. “Yeah,” he whispers back, because it feels so good, it feels _so_ good to have someone firm and hard- _heh_ \- pressed against him, holding him against the wall. He wants Derek to hold him down and demand all of his attention. “Yeah.”

Derek grabs him and pulls him into the house, closing the door behind him and immediately attacking his neck. Stiles honestly doesn’t know how the conversation went this way, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he suddenly wants Derek to hold him down and fuck him so hard and deep that he’ll never care about anything again.

“Please,” he gasps out, making Derek’s lips vibrate with a growl against this throat. “Please, Derek, I want more. _Please_.” Why won’t Derek take pity on him, he asked _nicely_?

“Stiles,” Derek groans. “Are you sure?” Stiles wants to kill him, because, _yes_ he is sure, just take it up with the erection straining against his jeans.

“Yes, yes, yes, please, Derek, I’m so sure.”

Derek doesn’t waste a moment; he literally picks Stiles up and throws him on his bed, apparently suddenly considerate enough to not fuck him against a doorframe for the first time.

Derek hovers over him on the bed, sucking on his neck until Stiles is sure it must be more red than peach, pulling off both their shirts, biting, sucking, licking, twisting, pinching, just not _fucking_.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles whines. He doesn’t want to waste time on foreplay right now. He doesn’t want Derek’s hands or mouth or anything except for his dick shoved as far up Stiles’ ass as it can go.

He wants to forget who he is, what is going on in his life, he wants his mind to be totally clear. He wants Derek to hold him down so that he can’t physically move, to take all of his attention so his mind can’t wander.  If Derek can’t give it to him, he’ll just go somewhere else.

 _But, no_ , his mind whispers. _You don’t want just anybody. You want_ Derek.

He tells his mind to shut the fuck up.

“Please,” he begs Derek. “Please just fuck me.”

Derek must hear something in his voice, because he just stares into Stiles’ eyes and nods, reaching for his nightstand to pull out a little bottle.

“No, no lube,” Stiles says, recognizing what it is. He wants _pain_ , he wants to feel the burn of Derek’s cock inside of him, to let it ground him.

Derek looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Yes, lube, Stiles. Unless you want to use the tears that will most definitely be streaming from your eyes as lube.” He has his judgy eyebrows on, but he looks almost _fond_ , what the fuck, when did that happen?

“Fine,” Stiles says, distracted by Derek’s face. He reaches a hand out to smooth his eyebrows out, but Derek catches the hand and kisses it, looking way too affectionate for this to just be a fucking. Stiles half expects him to play _Your Body is a Wonderland_.

Derek drizzles the warm liquid on his hand as Stiles watches, covering one finger in it. Stiles shivers in anticipation.

He isn’t disappointed when Derek plays with his hole with the finger, teasing, before finally sticking it in. Stiles gasps at the sudden presence. He’s fingered himself occasionally, but this feels completely different. He can feel Derek’s finger pressing into angles Stiles himself would never be able to reach.

As Derek crooks his finger, making Stiles cry out in pleasure, he feels another finger enter. Yes, yes, this is what Stiles needed. He can barely breathe, can barely think anything but a steady stream of _more, more, more_.

Derek scissors the fingers, grinning as Stiles’ body spasms. “Just fuck me already, you asshole,” Stiles hisses at him.

Derek shrugs. “Your wish is my command.” He slowly fucks his fingers in and out of Stiles.

“I hate you so much, _oh my god_ , I hate you.” Stiles shudders. If you do not put your dick inside of me _right now_ , I will _die_ , Derek, I will d-i-e.”

Derek rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but obediently pulls out his fingers, making Stiles whimper at the loss. But then he’s flipping Stiles over onto his hands and knees and rolling his hips against him.

“No,” Stiles chokes out and Derek stops immediately. “No, I mean- I want you to hold me down. I want you to put your weight on me and hold my hands so they can’t move.” Stiles smirks. “That would be what no man has ever done before. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

Derek growls and flips him over once more, so that he is lying on his back and Derek is over him, pressed against him almost everywhere. Stiles moans loudly, shamelessly.

He feels Derek’s cock against him every time he rolls his hips. “Jesus fuck, Derek, just get it inside of- _ah_.” Stiles cuts off suddenly when Derek does exactly what he says, pushing into him. Deep.

Suddenly, Derek stops. No, no, no, that is the opposite of what Stiles wants, no.

 

"I might not ever be able to love you," Derek says like a warning, putting his hands on Stiles' shoulders and pushing, which isn't what he wants at all.

Who the fuck said anything about love? This is about sex, not love. This is about Derek burrowing deep into Stiles until he can’t think of anything else. It has nothing to do with love. He can’t love Derek, so why would he ask Derek to love him?

"You don't have to love me. I don't want you to love me," Stiles answers, though he might, he _might_. "I just want you to fuck me."

"Okay," Derek says. What a beautiful word. Okay, okay, okay, I love you, okay.

Derek pushes in again, deep and sharp, burying himself into Stiles like he wants them to become one person.

Derek leans down and sucks an angry hickey on the back of Stiles’ neck, right next to his bruise. _Fuck_ , they haven’t even _kissed_.

Suddenly, that’s all that matters and Stiles feels frantic, panicky, that his first sexual encounter will be with someone he hasn’t even kissed.

“Derek, Derek,” he pants out. “Kiss me, please, kiss me.” Derek nods against the back of his neck, his stubble scratching him and angles Stiles’ head so they meet in a sloppy kiss, tongues and teeth everywhere. Derek bites his bottom lip, sucks on it, before slowly pushing his tongue in and out of Stiles’ mouth to match the pace of his hips.

Stiles had wanted this to clear his mind, to erase every thought. It doesn’t work. Instead, all he can think about is _Derek_. How beautiful he is like this, sweaty and close, pushing in and out of him. How had he never realized that Derek was beautiful? Of course, he knew that Derek was hot; _everyone_ knew that Derek was hot. But he’s so beautiful, he looks like some sort of Greek God. He’s beautiful, with his eyelashes so long and black, his gorgeous green eyes, the sweat dripping down his cheekbones, even those fucking _ridiculous_ eyebrows.

“I could do this forever,” Derek whispers into his ear, nipping at his lobe. “I wish I could fuck you forever. Just stay inside of you until we merge.”

Stiles nods frantically, choppily, because _yes_ , that is what he wants too. He wants Derek to push so deep inside of him that he forgets that he is a separate person, that he can pretend that he is just another part of Derek.

Derek switches so that he is holding Stiles up with only one hand, reaching down with the other to grasp Stiles’ dick, making the boy pant, threatening to come just from the feeling of Derek’s warm grip.

Derek pumps him all the way up and down his length, matching his pace to his thrusts. “Fuck, Derek, I’m already close,” he sobs out as Derek hits his prostate _over_ and _over_.

“Come for me, baby. Come all over us.” Stiles cries out, losing it as his orgasm wracks through him, coming while Derek is still fucking him.

As soon as he is down from his high, he kisses Derek, sighing into his mouth before pulling away. “Now, listen here. You are not allowed to come in me on the first date. I am not that kind of boy.” Derek smirks.

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. Well, maybe that pretty mouth of yours.” He reaches out a calloused finger- how did they even get like that? Doesn’t werewolf healing cover those?- and traces it over Stiles’ bow-lips.

Derek pulls out, causing Stiles to whine, before positioning himself over Stiles’ face. Jesus, Stiles thought this kind of shit only happened in porn.

Stiles opens his mouth willingly, because, hey, werewolf, no diseases, and holds himself still while Derek groans as he jerks himself off.

Finally, Stiles feels a sticky warm liquid cover his lips and chin. He groans as he tries to lick most of it off, but fails.

Derek falls back onto the bed with him, smiling, completely come-dumb. Stiles slaps him on the arm. “Clean me.”

Derek rolls his eyes but gets up to go to the bathroom to get something to wash them off with. Stiles last thought is that he hopes Cora isn’t home, before he closes his eyes and starts to drift off.

By the time Derek has returned with a warm washcloth, Stiles is already asleep.

 

::

 

Stiles wakes up the next morning to the sound of silent brooding.

"Ugh, Derek, stop. I can _feel_ your angst." He throws a pillow at him, scratching his stomach and yawning.

"Stiles, you're up?" Derek asks, suddenly over him, stroking his arm with a serious expression.

"No."

"About what I said last night," Derek continues, ignoring him. Stiles suddenly feels colder. "I was being honest. I really don't know if I will ever be able to love you." He pauses, searching Stiles' face, which is carefully blank.

"But I can try," Derek finishes, making Stiles freeze, his breath catching. "I want to try. I want to try and love you with everything I've got."

Stiles can't help the smile that overtakes his whole face. "A little too serious for a Saturday morning, huh?" Derek grins back at him.

"Stiles?" He breathes onto his face, a hair away from lips.

"Mmhmm?"

"Shut up." Derek kisses him like he never wants to stop, licks into his mouth like he could make a home in there.

"Yeah, I think I could do that." He tangles his hands in Derek's hair, tugging, as he nips and licks and sucks and kisses. Derek leans back and stares into his eyes, a warm smile on his face, his eyes soft. And that's when Stiles knows for sure.

Everything will be okay.

 

::

 

(At least until his dad barges in around noon, because Stiles forgot to call again.

But that’s a totally different story.)

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles has depressive behavior in this. After the attack, he acts slightly out of character.  
> He has a panic attack when talking to his father.  
> The sex might be seen as dubcon, because Stiles is still not in his right mind entirely, but he does vocally consent and enjoy everything that happens.  
> If anything else needs to be warned, don't hesitate to tell me and [make sure to check me out on tumblr](http://www.bisexualkitsune.tumblr.com/)


End file.
